


independence comes with a price

by the_chaotic_lesbian



Series: requests [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Black Eagles Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Black Eagles Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Character Study, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Kissing, M/M, Magic, felix character study disguised as a felihardt fic, felix is oblivious and linhardt is tired, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_chaotic_lesbian/pseuds/the_chaotic_lesbian
Summary: Magic has never come easy to him.Then again, Felix thinks with a scowl, has anything ever come easily to him?Once, he had thought that, if he lost everything else, he’d keep his sword, his strength, his skill. If he were to be known for anything, if not his crest and family name, it would be his fighting, his training, the one thing about his life that he’s been able to control.And now, here he is, five years into a bloody war, going against his homeland, his old friends, his last remaining family. And he’s learning magic.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~linhardt teaches felix magic, and also maybe a little something else.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Linhardt von Hevring
Series: requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898806
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	independence comes with a price

**Author's Note:**

> for finch! prompt was linhardt teaching felix reason magic, and i took that and ran with it, WHOOPS. what can i say, i love these boys so much... 
> 
> title from "home to you" by sigrid

Magic has never come easy to him. 

Then again, Felix thinks with a scowl, has anything ever come easily to him? 

Once, he had thought that, if he lost everything else, he’d keep his sword, his strength, his skill. If he were to be known for anything, if not his crest and family name, it would be his fighting, his training, the one thing about his life that he’s been able to control. 

And now, here he is, five years into a bloody war, going against his homeland, his old friends, his last remaining family. And he’s learning magic. 

“Oh darling,” Dorothea says, with a tilt of her head and a sparkle to her smile, “you have the talent for it, you know? Us magic users can tell. And besides, the professor thinks you should take the mortal savant certification exam, which means you’ll just have to learn reason.” 

“Yeah right.” Felix crosses his arms with a huff and a scowl. “Listen, I don’t know how you learned, but Ann-” he falters- “I’ve been instructed about reason magic before, and it doesn’t come naturally to me. Nothing you can do about that. So my answer is no.” 

“Oh, I’m not suggesting I should teach you!” Dorothea actually  _ laughs,  _ damn her. “Magic is a finicky thing. Sometimes it’s understood better with a teacher who is very similar to yourself.” 

“What are you suggesting?” 

Another sparkling smile. It’s fake as all get out. Felix has dealt with Sylvain long enough to spot a fake smile from miles away. 

“Why, you get Linhardt to teach you!” Dorothea taps her pencil against her chin knowingly, a glint in her eyes. “In fact, I’ll go tell Edie right away that Lin should be your reason instructor. Her and the professor are just so close, I guarantee within the week that you’ll be assigned to him.” 

Felix groans. 

Linhardt. Weird, horribly stubborn Linhardt. Linhardt, who had patiently healed his and Caspar’s wounds after they sparred together, but gave Felix a look so intense he had shied away from it. He, Felix, shying away from anything? It’s unheard of, but he couldn’t help it, not when those dark blue eyes seem to peer past the shields Felix has worn his entire life. 

He can’t say he’s happy to be a… a  _ student  _ of Linhardt’s, but in a way, he had expected something of that nature. After all, few students transferred to the black eagle class, so he had already accepted the fact that he would have to learn from the original class if he stood a chance of earning his keep. 

So it doesn’t matter what he thinks. He might screw up his features in disgust at the thought of learning from uppity Linhardt, but he still gives Dorothea a little nod of approval. He needs this. He needs to learn something that will give himself an edge over his former classmates. 

Ugh. 

“So,” Linhardt drawls, the next time they’re seated next to each other in the dining hall; well,  _ Felix  _ was sitting in the dining hall by himself, but Linhardt had promptly sat down across from him without asking for permission or anything, “the professor says I’m to teach you reason magic. Is that correct?” 

“Unfortunately,” Felix grumbles. He spears a piece of meat on his fork, stabbing at it for a minute before eating it. His fingers are tense and white around the utensil. 

“I don’t know why the professor chose me over Dorothea or Hubert, but I suppose I won’t complain.” Linhardt smiles, then, a lazy little smile that’s far too smug for Felix’s liking. “I might even get to see your crest in action.” 

“Do you think of anything other than crests?” Felix stabs at his plate again. 

“Well sure.” Linhardt hasn’t touched his food at all; it lays forgotten in front of him, like the man’s found something more interesting. And maybe he has, although Felix can’t say he’s happy about it. 

“Really? Like what?” 

“Well,” Linhardt pauses, and he folds his hands against the table; those dark blue eyes of his are peering at Felix the exact way they had after sparring all those years ago, like he can see into Felix’s soul, and he squirms under the intensity of the gaze, “I think about magic. About how I’m currently the only healer the black eagles have. Oh, I suppose Dorothea and Hubert do their part with healing spells, but when push comes to shove, I’m the only one who can keep up with the battle.” 

There’s something so tempting in Linhardt’s tone, as he speaks. Like he’s prompting Felix to comment on his little speech, or maybe challenging him to fight him on the words. 

“So you’re a healer,” is what he says, staring down at his food to avoid those  _ eyes,  _ “so what?” 

Linhardt just sighs, and then he stands. His plate is still completely untouched. Felix has half a mind to remind the healer to eat something - how is he going to have strength during battle if he doesn’t eat? - but Linhardt has almost completely dismissed him, standing and walking away like he hasn’t a care in the world. And maybe he doesn’t. 

Felix will never understand him. 

Still, he wants to become better. Better, so that he’s strong enough to defeat the people he was raised with. Felix knows that it’s coming; they’re weeks away from conquering Derdriu, and once Derdriu falls, Edelgard will set her sights on Fhirdiad. It’s too late to back out now. 

Which is why he shows up to the scheduled reason training, grumbling all the while. 

He is, of course, perfectly on time. He can’t afford to mess anything up, not so soon. Not when he’s only just rejoined his class, desperate to prove himself to people that might still listen to reason. 

Linhardt, however, is fashionably late. 

“Oh, hello,” he greets, stepping into the classroom with a loud yawn, “you’re here.” 

“Of course I’m here,” Felix folds his arms over his chest, tapping his foot against the ground impatiently, “you’re late.” 

“Hmm.” Linhardt sets the massive pile of books he’s brought onto one of the desks with a loud thunk. Felix glares at the stack. He’s not the fondest of books, he never has been, and watching Linhardt prance around with such a large stack has him understandably worried. 

“I thought we were training,” he says, still glaring daggers into the books as Linhardt picks one off of the pile and flips through it.    
  


“We are, but something tells me you don’t know any magical theory.” Linhardt flips a page, and then another, and Felix is actually  _ grateful  _ for a second, because it means his eyes aren’t on him. “Magic isn’t some weapon you can wave around. It’s an art. If you don’t know the theory, your magic won’t do much more than… well, I’m bored talking about it. I learned all of this stuff when I was ten, but I’ve noticed that you Faerghans don’t focus on magic training as a noble at all.” 

“That’s because it’s tedious when you could be learning proper sword techniques.” 

“Well, look where that got you. No magic training and a mortal savant certification you would certainly fail.” Linhardt smiles, then, all wolfish and mischievous. “Good thing I’m here to teach you.” 

Magic is, as it turns out, far more difficult than just swinging a sword.

Not that swinging a sword around is  _ easy.  _ Felix has spent countless years devoting himself to the technique and the art of swordfighting, enough that the singing of a blade meeting flesh comes naturally to him. The sizzle of magic against wood is, however, foreign, and the tingling of his fingers as he numbly traces a spell into the air. 

“It’s sloppy,” Linhardt notes, “but improving. I can’t expect for you to master this so quickly.” 

“Sloppy.” Felix scoffs, his cheeks flushing. He doesn’t know why this is affecting him so badly, why the thought of Linhardt looking down on him makes him want to push himself. 

“Your lines could be neater. That is what sloppy means, yes?” Linhardt leans over his shoulder, idly tracing over the sigil lines again. “This is a basic fire spell, but… hmm. You might be more suited to electric magic, like thunder and thoron. Relatively easy to control.” 

“Electric magic?” Felix has half a mind to shove Linhardt off of him, but there’s something so comforting in the way the mage uses his entire three centimeters of extra height to curl around Felix’s waist, his head falling onto Felix’s shoulder. 

“It’s a harder form, but it’s very powerful.” Linhardt yawns, and his hair tickles Felix’s neck. “I don’t use it myself, of course, I prefer wind, but for you? I think it will work very nicely. Provided that you’re willing to put in the work for it. And you are, right?” 

Felix thinks about it. On one hand, learning more difficult magic will be beneficial for his training, and it will make him all the more stronger. He can hardly imagine the look on Syl-

_ Stop that.  _

On the other hand, it will mean more time spent with Linhardt. Linhardt, who is still draped over him, far too close for comfort. Felix steps forward, out of the weak grip Linhardt has on him, and ignores the way his skin immediately misses the warmth. 

“Fine,” he says, curtly, with as much acid he can muster. Not that acid in his tone has ever  _ worked  _ on Linhardt; he just steps back and gives that little half-smile half-taunt look of his, the one that cuts into him sharper than any blade. 

“Wonderful,” Linhardt says, his smile curled into something more lazy. If he’s affronted by Felix’s sudden actions, he doesn’t let it show at all, merely turning to dig through the stack of books. “You’re going to have to study some more, of course. I’d offer to help, but that’s very tiring. Unless you have something to offer me in return?” 

“You just want to study my crest,” Felix accuses. 

“Perhaps.” Linhardt tugs a book free, idly flipping through the pages before stopping. “There. Thunder. Once your spell lines are clean enough, I reckon we can get started practicing it. Just not while Caspar is in the training grounds, please.” 

“Fine,” Felix snatches the book out of Linhardt’s hands. He doesn’t really want to do this anymore. Something tugs in his gut, deep and wrenching and painful. But… well, he’s promised himself that this will be it, that he  _ will  _ get stronger. And this is the only way he can do that. 

He’s doing this. 

He is  _ doing  _ this. 

Weeks pass in a blur. Without the lull of classes to keep him on track, Felix wanders the monastery aimlessly. Swinging his sword at the training dummies helps keep his mind sharp, but he sees the flashes of shadows  _ everywhere.  _

Maybe Dimitri had been on to something when he spoke of the ghosts following him, whispering into his ear until they turned him into a monster. Except these aren’t ghosts. Ghosts are the remnants of the dead, and the voices ringing in Felix’s mind and the images he catches flashes of every so often are painfully, horribly alive. 

_ Not for much longer,  _ a voice in his head reminds him. Today, the voices sound like Annette’s, sweet and kind and cheery. He can’t remember the last time he’d heard her sing. 

When the voices get too bad, he shoves his way into Ashe’s room, fists clenched. Ashe, unlike him, had joined the black eagles relatively early, driven away from his blue lion classmates after the death of his adopted father. Ashe had always been more in touch with himself than any of his former classmates, driven by his emotions rather than in spite of them. 

“Hello Felix,” his friend greets, when Felix marches into his room, book tucked under his hand. “Is something the matter?” 

“Nothing is the matter,” Felix growls, and he sits on the bed with a huff, opening the book onto his lap. The chapters Linhardt had assigned are marked, and he’d poured over them again and again and again, but nothing was clicking. He blames Annette, wonders if maybe she’s cursed him and that’s why magic feels so out of grasp, her voice etched into his mind. 

“Is that a magic book?” Ashe takes a seat next to him, peering over his shoulder. “It looks like the one Annie used to study. Is… that why you’re here?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Felix sighs, the book plopping on his lap as he drags hands through his hair. “Linhardt assigned it to me, but nothing’s making any sort of sense. I’m not… I’m not good with magic.” 

“I’ve never seen you study something before,” Ashe notes, and when Felix glances up at him in surprise, his friend - his only friend here, really, the only remnant of his past - is still staring at the book, eyes scrunched in concentration, “I’m not a magic expert, but why not just ask Linhardt to clarify? I know he’s not much of a teacher, but he’d probably help you, right?” 

“He’ll help me for a price,” Felix mutters, “he’s so stubborn. I hate him.” 

It’s a lie. It’s such an obvious lie, from the way his tone falls flat to the way he blinks, his chest aching at the thought. He doesn’t hate Linhardt. He doesn’t think he  _ can  _ hate Linhardt. The man can be infuriatingly annoying about his research, but he’s so earnest and genuine and the only person in this damned house that’s treating Felix like he’s not going to break. He’s not fragile, and Linhardt is the only person to think as much, and it’s refreshing in a way Felix can’t explain. 

Ashe just hums, and now there’s a little smile on his face. “I’ve spoken with him a couple of times, you know. And most of the time, he just asked me about you.” 

“Linhardt asked you about… me?” 

Ashe suddenly glances away, his cheeks flushed red. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. But… yes, he did.” 

“That’s so weird,” Felix shakes his head. His chest is still aching something fierce, and he doesn’t like it, “that’s literally so weird. Why didn’t he just ask me?” 

“No offense Felix,” Ashe says, slowly, “but you’re not the most approachable person.” 

“None taken,” Felix grumbles. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want to let Linhardt down by not studying, but this isn’t making any sense to him, and… he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. 

“Fine, whatever, I’ll go see him.” He stands, fumbling with the book until it closes and he can tuck it right back under his arm. “And I won’t tell him that you said anything. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Felix,” Ashe chirps, as Felix walks out of the room, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand the man. In another life, he doesn’t think they would be friends. Or maybe he needs to be friends with Ashe, needs to allow the man’s calm and honest deposition to wash over him. 

That would be nice. 

Linhardt is, predictably, in the library whenever Felix wanders over the monastery looking for him. It had been the first place he had thought to look, once his room turned out to be empty. Caspar had offhandedly mentioned once that Linhardt didn’t spend much time in his bedroom, which is… unusual of the sleepy scholar. 

“Felix,” Linhardt greets, without glancing up. He’s pouring over some strategy book that also seems vaguely out of character for him. Since when has Linhardt been interested in studying strategy? “Have you come to talk to me about your magic studies?” 

Felix sighs, dropping the book with a rather loud  _ thump  _ on the table next to Linhardt. “Explain. Now.” 

“That’s really no way of asking,” Linhardt clicks his tongue, and he still hasn’t looked up. He pats the table next to him, where a chair has already been drawn up. “Come, sit.” 

“What do you want me to say?” Felix takes a seat. What choice does he have? “You told me you would help me. So do it already. Or I’ll just leave.” 

“You’re not going anywhere. Not yet.” Linhardt finally looks up from his book, and when Felix catches sight of him, he looks  _ exhausted.  _ There are heavy bags under his eyes, darkened by the nature of his almost unnaturally pale skin. “Or you wouldn’t have come in the first place.” 

For a moment, Felix doesn’t speak, too caught up on how small his partner looks here, hunched over a library table, the candlelight casting shadows on his face that only lengthens the bags. “Tch. Whatever. Now help. I want to get this right.” 

“You’ll get it eventually.” Linhardt yawns, and then he’s tugging the book over, “something tells me this is more than just magic issues. Your lines have vastly improved, you just can’t cast the spell, correct?” 

“Have… have you been spying on me?” Felix flusters at the thought. It’s only because he’s angry, he tells himself. 

“No need. Thanks for confirming it for me.” Linhardt hums tiredly, and then he’s shoving the book aside. Those dark eyes of his - made even more dramatic by the flicker of candlelight illuminating them - peer into Felix’s face, reading each line. Felix shivers at the intensity of the gaze. 

“You know, Felix,” he says, slowly, “typically, the main reason for blocked magic is tied to the user’s emotions. In this case, your lines are correct, and your casting is clear, but you feel… blocked, correct?” 

“What the fuck do emotions have to do with  _ magic _ ?”    
  
“Far more than you’d think, honestly.” Linhardt yawns, loud and dramatic. “It’s like… the reason we can do magic without needing something like a tome to harness it is because we channel the energy that the spell contains within ourselves.” 

“...that makes  _ no  _ sense.” 

“Basically, magic is a fire that we can start ourselves. Often, our emotions are the fuel.” Linhardt draws a heal sigil into the air, and his hands spark with white magic. “Obviously, magic takes a toll, but the reason that white magic is called faith, and black magic reason, is because that’s what it takes. When I am healing on the battlefield, I have to have faith that what I am doing is working, or I can’t contain the white magic. Similarly, when channeling reason magic, you have to be levelheaded.” 

His explanation doesn’t really explain things as well as he probably thinks it does. Felix frowns, watches the way Linhardt’s heal spell fizzles into the air without a target to heal. “Okay. So... I have to have a reason? That doesn’t explain the whole emotions thing.” 

“You can’t be reasoned with if your emotions are in the way.” Linhardt leans forward, and his hand gingerly touches Felix’s chin. His fingers are still tingling with white magic, and it feels soothing in a way that reminds him achingly of Mercedes. “So, Felix. What is it you’re still holding onto? What can’t you let go?” 

That… “I… what? I’m not telling you.” And yet, he doesn’t pull away. He can’t pull away. He’s forced into his chair by a weight far heavier than gravity, frozen as ice as Linhardt trails his hand along his cheekbone, sweeps hair behind his ear.    
  
“I find that sometimes, letting things go is much easier after you speak it aloud.” Linhardt’s fingers reignite with white magic, and Felix shivers at the sensation. It almost feels calming, like the way so many of his fellow nobles describe tea. Calming, pleasant, and Felix wonders if it’s supposed to make him more malleable.    
  
“And…” Linhardt is still talking. Of course he is. Linhardt von Hevring never shuts up, not even when people desperately wish he would. And Felix is torn; does he want Linhardt to keep talking so that he doesn’t have to talk himself, or does he want that knowing tone to just shut up?    
  
“I think I know what it is anyways,” he’s saying, sounding far too smug, far too knowing, “you’re afraid. Afraid of our next battle, knowing that you’ll be seeing old friends. You want to learn magic so badly because it gives you leverage. Your friends can’t best you if they don’t know what’s hitting them.”    
  
“Shut up.”    
  
“You really have no reason to be so scared. You’re already plenty strong. And it isn’t as if you have to fight them, I’m positive Edelgard will allow you to sit out. Which means that you want to. You want them to know exactly which side you chose. What they’re missing out on. Why they should’ve followed you here.”    
  
“Shut  _ up. _ ”    
  
“Honestly, Felix, this is far too exhausting. I think you’d benefit a lot from running away, like I do. In fact, you might benefit-”    
  
And the words - each one more accurate, like a dagger aimed right at his heart - are too much, and the touch is too much, and Felix can’t help himself. He surges forward out of his chair and shoves his lips against Linhardt’s own.    
  
In hindsight, kissing him is probably not the proper way to release his emotions. He’s not even sure why he does. His cheeks flush red, and he pulls back as quickly as he had moved forwards.    
  
He ignores the way Linhardt had made a muffled noise of surprise, and, most importantly, he ignores the way Linhardt had kissed him  _ back.  _   
  
Linhardt is as flushed as he is, eyes wide. “That was… pleasant.”    
  
“You talk too much,” Felix growls, “about things you have no business in talking about. You don’t… you don’t know me.”    
  
“Well, I’d like to.” And then Linhardt has the audacity to  _ smile,  _ which is just entirely unfair. Felix almost wants to kiss him again. That’s also entirely unfair. “Honestly, it’s taken you forever to catch on. I don’t like teaching people.”    
  
“You suck at it.” Felix snorts, shaking his head even as he leans a little bit into the hand that Linhardt  _ still  _ has on his cheek. “So you’re not just into me cause of my crest?”    
  
“Well, that’s always a factor, but frankly speaking, no.” Linhardt leans a little bit closer, and their chairs are nearly pressed into each other. “Felix. Try the spell now.”    
  
“What?” Felix frowns. “Now?”    
  
“Yes, now. Do it.”    
  
“Fine, fine.” Felix leans away from Linhardt’s touch, inhales. He feels… lighter. Linhardt had read him like a children’s book, which should be annoying, but it’s  _ Linhardt.  _ It’s not like the scholar is going to tell anyone. And… it’s nice, having someone - someone that’s not Ashe, anyways - know of his dilemma.    
  
He draws the thunder sigil into the air. A library is no place for electric magic, but he’s not going to  _ fire  _ it or anything. He just wants to see if the stupid thing will work.    
  
And it… does?    
  
“Look at that,” Linhardt coos, as Felix’s hand sparks with reason magic, electricity sparking along his fingers, “it would appear that I was right.”    
  
“Shut up.”    
  
“Are you going to make me?” Linhardt raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, and he’s smiling that cocky little smile of his. “Oh, please make me. It was so nice last time.”    
  
“You…” Felix groans, but he complies. Thunder magic extinguished, he leans forward and kisses him again.    
  
This time is… far nicer. Linhardt wraps an arm around his shoulders, brushing through his hair, and Felix reaches out to caress his cheek lightly. Linhardt is cold to the touch, which shouldn’t surprise him with how pale he is, but he’s surprised nonetheless. 

Linhardt’s lips, however, are warm, and Felix closes his eyes with a shuddery sigh. This is… this is nice. He could get used to this.    
  
Far too soon, though, Linhardt pulls away, and Felix blinks, watching the way Linhardt’s eyes open with a flutter of his sinfully long eyelashes.    
  
“Don’t worry too much about the next battle,” he says, with a small smile, “you really have nothing to worry about. Everything will be alright.”    
  
“Since when have you been an optimist?” Felix frowns with a huff.    
  
“Oh, I’m not. But…” Linhardt’s hands caress his shoulders, his sides. “I don’t take these kinds of things lightly. Love. Infatuation. Whatever this is. I can’t let myself get hurt by letting you perish on the battlefield. So I promise I will keep you safe.”    
  
“It’s never been me that I’m worried about.”    
  
“Well, nonetheless. I thought you’d appreciate the sentiment.” Linhardt’s breath is warm on Felix’s face. “Knowing that someone here has your back, no matter what… if my theories are correct, that is something you most ardently need to hear.”    
  
Felix groans. Is this what he’s signed up for? Constant near condescending remarks? Except he knows that… well, that Linhardt doesn’t mean it in that way. He means well. He’s trying to be helpful. And… it’s kind of nice. 

  
“Fine, fine, you’re right. Is that what you want to hear?” Felix stands, and then offers his hand to Linhardt to help him up. “Now come on. You look exhausted. You should get some more sleep.”    
  
“That’s big talk, coming from you,” Linhardt quips, but he stands nonetheless, “I’m only going to nap if you stay with me. You need the rest too, I can tell.”    
  
“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Felix flushes.    
  
This is still… strange. It is strange, isn’t it? Him, a noble of Faerghus turned traitor, finding solace in the company of Linhardt, noble of Adrestia? It’s strange, but somehow it feels right.    
  
He stops hearing the voices. Annette’s singing doesn’t taunt him anymore. He stops nearly addressing things to Ingrid, to Dimitri, to Sylvain. The feeling of white magic against his skin reminds him of Linhardt, of fleeting kisses stolen in moments of privacy, of taunts tossed back and forth without any heat, and not of Mercedes.    
  
Felix is a black eagle now. 


End file.
